


Impossible

by Classiq



Series: Postseason [3]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Classiq/pseuds/Classiq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That did not just happen,” Buster whispered to himself. “I did not just grab Tim Lincecum and kiss him, and he did not kiss me back, and we did not just have a spontaneous make out session on the couch of my suite…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible

_Oh shit,_ Buster thought. _Shit. Shit. What the hell are you doing, Posey? What the hell do you think you are doing?_  
Buster’s mind was racing faster than Gregor Blanco trying to beat out a bunt single. Somehow he had gone from making fun of Tim to kissing him, and then Tim started kissing _him_ , and now they were making out on the couch of his suite.

Buster’s train of thought was rattled by a soft sound coming from the back of Tim’s throat. Fire was surging through his nervous system. He had never felt like this before.

Tim was straddling a supine Buster on a sofa barely long enough for Buster’s legs. Buster had his hands knotted in Tim’s long hair- something he had been fantasizing about for an obnoxiously long time. His hair felt perfect and smelled clean, and Buster couldn’t stop what he was doing. Tim’s mouth was warm and soft and a thousand times more delicious than anything he had ever experienced. He couldn’t believe that he was doing this, that his hands were making their way up Tim’s sweater, that Tim was grinding his hips against him and making that fucking soft moan that made Buster want to lose his shit right then and there…

And then there was a knock on the door. Tim shot up, hair flying over his face. “Whosit?” he mumbled.

“It’s the pizza,” Buster said, standing up. He took a few deep breaths. He was half-hard, and Tim was sitting on the couch looking completely punch-drunk.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Tim said. “I’ll pay you half after.”

“Good idea,” Buster said with a nervous smile.

Tim walked awkwardly to the bathroom and Buster answered the door. “Order for Lincoln-coom?” the pizza boy said, squinting at the name on the tag. He turned to Buster. “Sixteen bucks.”

“Keep the change,” Buster said, handing him a twenty and taking the pizza.

“Thanks bro-“ started the pizza guy, but Buster had promptly shut the door. He turned around and placed the pizza on the table.

“That did not just happen,” Buster whispered to himself. “I did _not_ just grab Tim Lincecum and kiss him, and he did _not_ kiss me back, and we did _not_ just have a spontaneous make out session on the couch of my suite… I am so hungry that I am hallucinating… I do _not_ have any romantic feelings towards my teammate, this is not real, this is all a result of the pizza taking too long, why did I tip him, he took forever…”

Tim walked out of the bathroom. “Hey,” he said. His blue sweater was so large that it was hanging off of his shoulder exposing his collarbone. He looked like a little kid who was just woken up in the middle of the night by a storm. “Pizza time?”

“Yeah,” Buster breathed. Were they just going to pretend that nothing had happened? Or was he right, and this was a hallucination, and with the first bite of pizza he’ll realize that he let his mind run wild again?

Tim grabbed a slice and sat cross-legged on the couch. “Awesome. I’m starving.”

Buster grabbed a slice himself as well as two water bottles. “Same. Beyond.”

Watching Tim eat was always an experience. Somehow he managed to fit obnoxious quantities of food in his tiny frame.  
“You are something else,” Buster said after Tim had polished down three pieces of pizza in the time it took him to eat one. “Did you really take that ‘small’ comment to heart? Or are you just trying to eat as much as you can so I don’t get any?”

“I really worked myself up an appetite,” Tim said. Buster blushed deeply. “During the _game_ ,” Tim said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Me too.” They finished up the pizza in all of ten minutes.

“Damn, I really was hungry,” Tim said, standing up and stretching his long arms over his head. “Feels good to eat.”

“You said it,” Buster said, throwing the box on the counter. “It’s getting kind of late. I won’t blame you if you have to head on back to your room.”

“You don’t want me to spend the night?” Tim asked, and before Buster knew it, Tim was embracing him from behind and lightly running his teeth against his neck.

“So that wasn’t some sort of hunger-induced hallucination,” Buster sighed.

“Nuh-uh,” Tim said. “You came on to me. Then I came on to you, and then I was about to come _on_ you, but-“

“Jesus, Tim,” Buster said shoving him away. “You are too much sometimes.”

Tim smiled mischievously. “But you like me, don’t you Buster? Say it. Tell me.”

“Why? We just made out on my couch, what do I have to tell you?”

“That you like me. That you don’t just want me for my body.”

Buster burst out laughing. “Okay Tim, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Bedtime for you.”

“All right,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I hear you. We need to rest up for tomorrow’s game.” He walked up to Buster and put his arms around his waist. “Do I at least get a kiss goodbye?”

Buster rolled his eyes, but Tim was there looking so eagerly at him. He sighed. “Fine. Two seconds.” He leaned down to give Tim a peck, but as soon as their mouths connected he realized it wouldn’t be as easy as he had thought. Tim’s body was moving against his, and Buster’s mind began to feel cloudy. “You sure you don’t want me to spend the night?” Tim joked softly against the hollow of Buster’s neck. He was winding the drawstring of Buster’s sweatpants around a long, slender finger.

“Timmy,” he sighed. “I can’t-“

“I get it,” Tim said, nuzzling against his neck. “I just need one thing from you before I go.”

“What?” Buster asked, his voice tinted by a strange combination of fear and arousal.

“Tell me the truth. Tell me you like me.”

“You know I do,” Buster murmured, burying a hand in Tim’s hair. “I like you. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Today really is my day,” laughed Tim, pulling away.

“Save some of those good vibes for us tomorrow, even if you don’t play,” Buster warned.

“I will. If you get a hit tomorrow, I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Oh yeah?” asked Buster, getting ahead of _himself_. “What if I get a few hits? Or an RBI? What if I hit a home run?”

“Hit a home run for me tomorrow, Posey,” Tim whispered, “and I’ll give you a hell of a lot more than a kiss.”

 

\---

 

 _Wow_.

Tim closed the door of Buster’s suite behind him and had to summon all of his self-control not to jump around in circles. _What a fucking **day!  
**_ He pitched like his old self, he got to eat most of an entire pizza, and Buster kissed him. Buster Posey _kissed_ him. He felt like he was flying, like he was above anything…  
And of course he had to joke flirt with him because he was too afraid that all of this wasn’t real. But when he had started playing with Buster and saw that incredibly hungry way Buster had looked at him, he began to realize that he wasn’t playing. He was serious; if Buster had asked him to spend the night, he probably would have.

It was a terrifying feeling. Tim was lucky he had a certain amount of bravado (as a pitcher, he had to) because he felt confused as hell. Why did Buster want him? How long had he had feelings for him? Was anything going to happen between them, or was this make out session going to be a one time only thing?

“What’s up with you?” Zito had opened the door of his suite. “You still up here?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, face flushed.

“You look like it’s Christmas or something. What’s up?”

“I just ate a pizza,” Tim said breathlessly, unable to come up with anything else. Zito considered it for a moment and then nodded.

“Right on. Pizza is good. You going to your room?”

“Yeah.” Tim didn’t trust himself to hang out with Zito- he was afraid he’d end up spilling everything to him. “I’m tired. From the pizza.”

“From the pizza. Right. Okay,” Zito shrugged. “Rest up for tomorrow, Timmy. Tomorrow we take the series.”

“Fuck yeah we do.”

“Good night!”

Tim walked down the hall to the elevator and closed the door. “Today better not be a dream,” he said, staring at his reflection in the elevator doors. “No way. Today better be real.”

 

\---

 

The next morning came early. The game started at one, which felt like sunrise. They took batting practice and Tim worked out with the relievers. Every once in a while he would catch Posey’s glance and smile, loving the soft flush that came over Buster’s cheeks. It was too easy.

When he took his place in the pen with the rest of the guys, he never let himself relax. It looked like a pitcher’s duel for the ages with Matt Cain throwing a gem on the mound and Mat Latos pitching just as well for the Reds. Romo called it the “Big Matt Battle”.

Then in the fifth, things started working for the Giants. It started with a Blanco single after a call that Latos didn’t seem to agree with. Latos, who Tim knew had some pretty heavy rage against the Giants, tried to compose himself. He barked at the umpire a little and then took his place back on the rubber. Then Crawford brought Blanco home with a _triple_. The bullpen was going crazy. Pagan got to first on an error, which scored Crawford. Scutaro drew a walk, and Sandoval reached on a single.

Buster Posey was coming up to the plate with the bases loaded.

_If you get a hit tomorrow, I’ll give you a kiss._

Tim was on the edge of his seat. “Come on Buster,” he muttered.

Ball one.

_What if I get a few hits? Or an RBI?_

Buster fouled off the next pitch. He took another ball, and then swung through a strike. There was only one out, so even a sac fly would score Pagan. 2-2 count. “Let’s go M-V-Posey!” Romo shouted from the bullpen. Reds fans were anxious, seated and worried. If Latos struck out Posey, he could get back into the rhythm of things. Ringing up a hitter as hot as Buster surely would give him some of the confidence he had lost.

_What if I hit a home run?_

Latos dealt, and Buster swung. The swing was beautiful and perfect, as Buster was wont to do. “No fucking way, NO FUCKING WAY!” Romo screeched. Latos knew it. The fans knew it. Even Buster knew it.

Buster Posey had just hit a grand slam.

“Oh my GOD!” screamed Tim. “Holy shit!” He shook his head. “You fucking little show-off,” he said under his breath, laughing.

“He just hit a grand slam!” Affeldt said in disbelief, slapping Tim across the back.

“Of course he did,” Tim said, shaking his head. “Buster fucking Posey. Oh my God.”

Buster ran into the dugout and for a moment let down his dignified exterior, screaming and slapping high fives all around.

After that, the Giants were all on the edge of their seats. Cain gave up a few runs, and Tim watched Kontos, Affeldt, Lopez, and Casilla all leave the bullpen. Cincinnati was playing hard, and each inning was arduous to watch. Their guys kept getting on base, but the Giants bullpen was keeping them in check.

Finally Romo went out near the end of the eighth inning. Navarro lined out, and the Reds were retired. Three more outs. Chapman came in and pitched the ninth, and after a Crawford single, both Nady and Pagan popped out. Scutaro lining out ended the top of the ninth. Three more outs. Romo took the mound to face the top of the order. Everyone was anxious, but Romo was the guy to have out there. If anyone could shut down these guys and win the series, it was him. Phillips popped out, but then Cozart drew a walk. Votto, who had seemed quieter than expected during the series, managed a single, and Ludwick, who was definitely not quiet at all, brought in a run with a single himself. It was now 6-4. Not a big deal if Romo could extinguish this now. Jay Bruce flew out, and Rolen stepped up to the plate. Three more strikes. Three more strikes and the Giants would have somehow pulled another miracle out of nowhere to advance.

Rolen took a strike, then a ball, then another strike. 1-2 count. Romo threw, and Rolen fouled off the pitch. Romo threw again.

Swinging strike three. The Giants had won. Tim ran out on the field with everybody else. Everyone was screaming and hugging and jumping around. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They weren’t supposed to be able to come back like this, _but they did._ Buster ran into the crush, holding his hand out for a high-five. Everyone gave him the cold shoulder.

The celebration continued in the clubhouse when they found out that Bochy had brought along crates of champagne from San Francisco. Hunter Pence, who had rallied the team together with his inspirational pre-game speeches, got several showers. Tim was trying to open a bottle when he got the full brunt of a shower from Zito. “Now I know what chicks feel like,” he cracked to Zito, unaware that he was still being broadcast live. After dropping a couple more bombs on-air, he turned to see something that surprised him.  
Buster was in the clubhouse, absolutely soaked with champagne. Tim knew Buster tried his hardest to avoid messy clubhouse antics, but there he was, chasing Affeldt with a champagne bottle and laughing his head off. Tim had never seen a smile that big on Buster’s face. Romo was overcome with emotion near his locker, letting the tears of amazement flow. Tim hadn’t been at the celebration for clinching the west, and quite a few guys made sure he got a little bit extra to make up for that.

They were staying in Cincinnati for another night awaiting the winner of Game 5 between the Cardinals and the Nationals. Tim caught Buster’s eye from across the clubhouse and mouthed “tonight”.

Somehow, that impossible smile got bigger. 


End file.
